Take What You Can
by RianneHime
Summary: -ONE-SHOT- Matthew is presented with a choice, between the instincts he's grown as a thief or last few scraps of honor he has left . . . -shounen-ai- MG


To make a long story short, I got severely pissed off the other day. And, to make another long   
story short, I did as we authoresses are wont to do and took it out on my favorite characters.   
So, this isn't my normal style, it isn't humor, and it features an extremely angsty Matthew. Or   
minorly angsty Matthew, since angst isn't really my thing . . .  
  
In the end, though, it's a purely experimental fic -- I might take it down if no one likes it. It's my   
first attempt in forever at writing in 3rd POV . . . yes, I AM writing in 3rd POV! This feels weird  
to me . . . I did try for full out angst, like the genre says, but it just didn't work out.   
  
I always wondered what Matthew would be like if he didn't have to be cheerful. So . . . yeah . .   
. Matthew gets tempted by that dark little demon we call lust . . .  
  
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"Matthew."  
  
The thief shifted up from his sitting position in his tent, his red cape falling in folds behind him as   
he shifted to his feet. "What, Legault," he asked, in an only slightly patronizing tone.   
  
The other thief, for some reason, was staying out of sight outside the tent, but Matthew could   
catch a glimpse of the lavender hair in the corner.   
  
The ex Fang seemed amused, if you could read his voice properly. "I need a favor."  
  
Matthew liked favors. Most favors could be dangled over peoples heads for indefinite amounts   
of time, and to have a one-up on Legault was always welcome.  
  
"Sure," Matthew called out cheerily. "What is it?"  
  
It was then that Legault stepped into the tent, carrying something -- no someONE very familiar.  
Matthew caught his breath. Guy.  
  
Legault carrying a limp and almost lifeless Guy was not what Matthew had been expecting, nor   
did he expect Legault to unceremoniously dump the myrmidon into his arms. "No, he's not dead,  
he was hit by a Sleep Staff today," Legault explained bemusedly. "And I'm not in the mood to   
take care of him. So, I was hoping you would."  
  
He cocked an eyebrow. "And of course, to make sure there's room, we'll have to switch   
tentmates for a bit."  
  
Tentmates . . . that was right. Guy was Legault's tent mate. Well, that was fine with Matthew.   
Matthew'd trade Heath for Guy any day. "Fine," He chirped out, trying not to look as both   
bewildered and estatic as he actually was at the moment.  
  
"Good." With a nod and an annoyingly knowing smile, Legualt headed ack to the tent exit. "And  
Matthew," Legault turned slowly, cocking a single eyebrow. His hair slowly shimmered as he   
tilted his head slightly. "Take what you can."  
  
And with that final, less-cryptic-then-it-seemed remark, the elder thief left the tent with his usual  
arrogant flair, the flap sliding shut behind him as if he had never been there at all. In fact, the only  
evidence left of him was . . . Guy.   
  
Matthew let the smirking grin slide from his face, well-aware that his only audience was with the   
unconscious myrmidon. The unsettled -- and a tinge worried -- look on the thief's face was at   
definite odds with his usual cheer. His situation had, just then, gone from bad to incredably  
worse.  
  
Take what you can. The first four words of the thieves creed. Normally they incited nothing   
more in him then the occasional hunger for mischief -- but in the sudden context they were used   
now, it gave birth to different, more primal sort of hunger.  
  
Matthew took one, long look at the sleeping Guy he carried. His hair was limp, and his braid   
curled almost shyly over his shoulder and by the torn stitches of his shirt. His normally wide,   
cerulean blue eyes were closed shut, the eyelashes fluttering against slightly flushed skin in some   
unspoken dream. His slow, easy breaths were easily felt through the thief's thin shirt.  
  
He looked away hurriedly, cursing Legault under his breath. Now he had two problems to take   
care of. . .  
  
Think, he mentally chastised himself. Yes, it was normal for someone his age to have feelings for  
someone else. Yes, it was normal for the aforementioned person to want to physically express   
those feelings. No, it was NOT normal to do so while the other was unconscious and most likely  
detested you . . .  
  
. . . Matthew never did like normalcy . . .  
  
No, no no no. He shook his head rapidly, his musty gold hair mussing up even more. He   
couldn't even let his mind travel down those paths, especially not tonight, when he'd have to   
actually try to sleep next to Guy -- without touching him.  
  
He had worked hard to gain Guy's trust -- a strange sort of trust, yes, that rarely extended past   
the battlefield, but it was there none-the-less -- and he wasn't about to violate that. He'd take   
any bond he could between himself and the myrmidon, be it honor, trust, or even that cursed,   
blessed oathpaper that had bound Guy to him to begin with.  
  
Yet, those words still echoed in his head . . .   
  
Take what you can, Legault had said. Here, he had an -- unconscious -- object of his affections  
to himself for the night. . .  
  
Matthew gave Guy what was supposed to be just a quick glance, but it lengthened into a long,  
tense, and heat-filled stare. Guy's lips parted in his sleep, almost as if in silent invitation.  
  
Oh, Elimine . . . Matthew groaned as silently as possible. That . . . that really didn't help.  
  
Maybe . . . . he hesitated, shifting his balance to both legs, to better be able to shift Guy's   
weight . . . maybe just a tiny kiss wouldn't hurt. . . a kiss never hurt anyone, after all. . . .  
  
. . . take what you can . . .   
  
He leaned his head down, pausing a fraction above Guy's head. The warm wind from Guy's   
breath tickled the skin above his lips in a seeming promise of what had yet to be done.   
  
Tilting his face's angle slightly, he gently placed his mouth to Guy's. On it's own volition, it began  
to move slowly on the swordman's lips, working gently. Matthew's mind went blank of all   
thoughts but the feel of the chapped skin on his. When the seemingly still unconscious Guy let   
out a tiny moan and parted his mouth wider, Matthew did not stop, but took the invitaton at face  
value instead.  
  
Thrills coursed through him at the contact, and what seemed to only be a few moments later   
Matthew had to pull back, gasping for breath. That was . . . that had been . . . and Guy . . .  
  
Matthew knew -- he KNEW, damn it, that if he kissed Guy again, something much more . . .   
intimate than just a stolen kiss would happen . . . And yet, his head still lowered toward Guy's,   
he could feel once more Guy's breath on his, his lips and tongue longing once more to touch . . .  
  
. . . NO.  
  
It wasn't his mind from which this overwhelming inner voice sounded, but more from the deep   
part of his chest, near the realm of his heart. Matthew shook his head to clear it.  
  
No. It . . . it would have to wait for another time -- a time when Guy was awake, and fully   
willing to participate. Yes, that was something worth waiting for.  
  
And Matthew would personally make sure that such a time would come to pass -- he swore on  
it. Oh, yes, he vowed, such a time would definitely come to pass.  
  
And Guy would want him too.   
  
As much as Matthew wanted him. Eventually.  
  
He set Guy on his bedroll, arranging his limbs to be as comfortable as possible. In the warm   
weather, a blanket wasn't necessary, but Matthew felt slightly guilty for not having one for him.   
He undid the many buckles and snaps on his cape with the ease of practice, and awkwardly   
draped it over the blue clad teen.  
  
Matthew stepped back for a moment with a crooked smile. Inspecting the scene before him, he  
decided with no uncertainty that he liked the look of his cloak on Guy. He'd have to make Guy   
wear it a few times once he . . . ah . . . persuaded Guy to see things his way.  
  
Laying himself down a safe distance from Guy, Matthew tried to settle. Key word there being  
'tried' of course. he ended up staring vacantly at Guy's back.  
  
Oh, screw the safe distance. Matthew scooted over as close as he could to Guy, even going so  
far as to press his body against him.  
  
He draped an arm cautiously over Guy, and made sure the teen didn't stir. He pulled the   
myrmidon closer with a more assured air, his front cradling Guy's back, matching their breaths in  
a lazy, triumphant and nervous euphoria about the forbidden risks he was taking.  
  
Not necessarily forbidden, though. He could blame it on his being asleep. He could say that it   
wasn't his fault he'd rolled over and grabbed Guy. He could say alot of things . . . or, if he woke  
himself up before Guy did, he wouldn't have to say anyhing at all.  
  
What if Matthew couldn't win Guy over? The thought struck the thief like a bolt. Worse, what if   
Guy just . . . refused him flatly? These were possibilities he didn't care to consider, but . . .  
  
He blinked in the semi-darkness, his limbs aching from the day's exertions, his eyelids so heavy   
they felt weighted with lead -- but Matthew didn't dare close his eyes to go to sleep. He might   
miss this one chance -- this one opportunity to have the myrmidon in his arms.  
  
The weight of this knowledge hit him so suddenly -- the realization that he might never, ever   
have the chance to have Guy in anywhere near this position again -- it struck him with a crushing  
force. Matthew hugged Guy tighter, slightly curling around him, as though hoping the dry warmth  
of the swordsman he lay with could somehow be joined with his.  
  
Matthew only realized that his tight grip might hinder Guy's breathing when the teen gave a small,  
unconsciously blurred cough. Matthew reluctantly relaxed his arms, settling for looping them   
around his companion's shoulders and stomach in a snug pull.  
  
He wished, for a fleeting second, that Guy would wake up, for just a moment, so that Matthew   
could see what sort of reaction he elicited. Guy was oh so wonderfully both predictable and   
erratic --you could play him like an instrument to make him sing, but you never knew the notes  
that'd come out.   
  
And in the same moment he wished this, he wished Guy wouldn't wake up -- ever.  
  
Not that, of course, Matthew was complaining. He breathed in deeply, burying his nose into the  
nape of Guy's neck, directly where the braid began. It seemed Guy had been borrowing one of   
the girl's shampoos, as he didn't think that Guy would smell like vanilla by choice.  
  
Matthew suddenly liked vanilla much more then he had previously.  
  
No, he wasn't complaining at all.  
  
He'd take what he could, as was always his way. But . . . Matthew had a very Guy-like   
thought . . . it just wasn't fair . . .  
  
It just wasn't fair, that in the morning he'd have to go back to pulling Guy's hair, as opposed to   
breathing it in quietly in the dark.  
  
It wasn't fair at all, that once he'd woken up, he'd have to tease the Sacaen for his stuttering lips,  
as opposed to kissing them softly in his sleep.  
  
It was incredibly unfair, really it was, that he didn't know that the very much awake Sacaen in his  
arms was thinking the very same things. Guy didn't want his 'dream' to end just yet, but he   
settled into Matthew's arms anyway, knowing he would pine for the thief's warmth come   
morning.  
  
Both slept in.   
  
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It's more of a bittersweet fic, then angst. Not to mention, extremely open ended. You know . . .  
but I can't help but think it lacks something . . . ah, yes. A PLOT would be nice.  
  
Hmm . . . well, the whole 'plot' of this fic was orchestrated to have one end result -- Matthew   
and Guy cuddling in bed together.   
  
And YES, I'm working on The Case of the Stolen Heart. It's probably being beta'd as we   
speak. I just worked on this for a bit to get my muses flowing between writing. . . . 


End file.
